


Ready to Go

by runawayballista



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Sadism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker lets her kick the shit out of him, lets her beat him into the ground every time he makes a pass at her, because he knows it's only a matter of time before she takes it just one step further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready to Go

The first time Tucker propositions her, sidling up with that shitawful charm he wears like too much cologne, she beats the shit out of him. All he can see for days is the sunlight glinting off her celeste blue armor as her fist connects with the side of his helmet, and every ache and bruise on his body is just another reminder that no, hell no, you don’t try to fuck Freelancer chicks because they’re fucking mean, and they’re fucking _crazy_ , and he doesn’t need to be told a third time. As soon as picks himself up off the ground, his armor creaking and holy shit she _dented it_ , he puts himself on a permanent goddamn Freelancer pussy moratorium.

It lasts all of thirty-six hours until Tucker’s back to jerking off in the shower thinking about her, and somehow the way his everything hurts every time he moves only makes it better. He tries to tell himself it’s enough just to think about her, and _that_ lasts less than a day. The way she kicked the shit out of him was weirdly intimate, way too much so, and Tucker can’t get it off his mind. Every time he goes back to visit his rock, it’s Carolina he thinks about, and nothing else.

He’s never faced so violent a rejection before, not even from Tex. There’s something so personal about the violence Carolina visited upon him, and he just can’t shake this sense that there’s something more behind it. He thinks at first that it has something to do with Wash, that maybe she’s in bed with that fucknut Agent Tightass and he’s a little territorial, but when Tucker limps back into the base after Carolina throws down with him the first time, Wash only looks baffled and maybe a little annoyed. He doesn’t have any idea, and Tucker laughs at himself for even considering the thought. There’s no way Wash is getting laid. There’s no way he _could_.

Everyone’s a little terrified of Carolina, and Wash is no exception. Tucker sees the wariness with which he regards her, even though they spend so much time locked up in the briefing room together. She’s dangerous as fuck, but she doesn’t have that methodical execution that Tucker remembers of Tex. Carolina is volatile and unpredictable and she’s fucking batshit. Tucker accused Tex of being crazy more than once, but fuck, he didn’t know what crazy was until he met Carolina.

But then he thinks about her angry eyes, the snarling curve of her lips and he can’t keep his hand out of his pants at night. It’s not that it’s forbidden -- it’s that it’s _punishable_ , and it’s unsafe, and Tucker’s never found himself more desperate to fuck someone before. His old days of chasing college tail don’t even compare. This is a challenge if he ever saw one.

So he provokes her. He does it on purpose, ignoring every threat she’s sputtered in his direction, and even though an awful fear for his life seizes up inside him he doesn’t lose that shit-eating grin. He lets her kick the shit out of him again and again, and Wash swears he must have a death wish. Tucker can’t say anything to that, especially not after the time that Carolina pulls his helmet off him after she’s already beaten him into the ground, and all she gets is his bloodied face still grinning back at her.

“Hey sweetcheeks, we finished with the foreplay yet, or did you wanna knock me around some more?” he asks, and when she rips off her own helmet to stare at him, her eyes are so possessed of fury that he swears she’s going to hit him again. And she does -- she backhands him right across the face, and if his nose wasn’t broken before it sure as hell is now, but then she grabs his head and crushes her mouth to his. There’s blood on both their faces and Tucker can barely breathe but holy shit she’s _kissing him_ , and he can’t even taste her through all the blood but her tongue is hot in his mouth and his chest just _leaps_.

She fucks like a wounded animal, clawing and desperate, but there’s no doubt as to who’s in power when she straddles him on his bunk before he can even tear off another cheeky one-liner. There’s bruises on top of bruises and there’s a dull burn coursing through his whole body, but it can’t possibly compare to the way everything positively _sears_ at the sight of her, smell of her, the feel of her. She’s not like any girl he’s ever fucked before -- but that’s the thing, she’s not a girl at all. She fights and fucks and tears at the world with teeth and claws. She wrenches the breath right out of his chest, and she leaves him spent and ragged on his bed, taking everything she can with her.

===

Tucker’s face still aches like crazy the next day, and he has no choice but to grudgingly ask Wash to take a look at it. There’s no way he’s going to go to Caboose, and he sure as fuck can’t ask Carolina, and so he’s stuck putting up with this asshole just to make sure everything’s going to heal up right.

“I’m not a field medic, you know,” Wash says, and Tucker swears if he gives him another disapproving frown, he’s going to flip a goddamn table. He examines Tucker’s face from a respectable distance, his face dubious.

“I don’t need you to fix it, I just need you to make sure I’m not gonna fucking die.”

“You’re not going to die, you idiot,” Wash says flatly. He eyes Tucker, looking torn between confusion and scorn. “It’s just a broken nose, and it’s not even that bad. You already cleaned it up pretty good. Just...keep ice on it.”

“Fuckin’ sweet,” Tucker says with little enthusiasm. “Hey, stop looking at me like that, asshole. You’re freaking me out.”

“It was Carolina again, wasn’t it?”

There’s something knowing and resigned and somehow superior in his tone that just makes Tucker want to hit him, but all he does is lift his chin and give Wash a dismissive look. “The fuck do you care?”

“I just don’t get why you keep asking for it like that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not like you can even fight back, and she’s not going to change, anyway.”

Tucker snorts, and he can’t keep the smug grin off his face, even as he heads for the door. “Yeah, man, that’s what you think.”

Wash only stares after him in bafflement, until the awful sentiment finally dawns on him, and his angry shout rings throughout the base. “God _damn it_!”

===

Tucker doesn’t know how to approach Carolina now, and he can’t shake the sense that she’s not quite finished with him yet (and he hopes, god, he _hopes_ ), but when she meets him on her way to the briefing room she only gives him that cool stare until he moves, and she just walks on by. He damn near calls out to her just to say something stupid and provocative, but his bruises have only just started healing, and he’s not _that_ much of a glutton for punishment. He tries to convince himself that one time could possibly be enough -- that the lucrative memories he’s deposited in his spank bank are going to last him forever -- and he knows that it’s not, but Carolina’s the one with the all the cards, and he doesn’t even know what game they’re playing.

A few nights later and he winds up with night watch duty, which is bullshit and everyone knows it. No one’s even so much as mentioned night watch duty since Captain Flowers died. But Wash, self-important fuckwad that he is, seems to think he’s in charge here and Tucker doesn’t feel like arguing with him, so he hauls a chair and a couple of beers up to the top of the base and lets himself fall asleep.

It’s the crushing sensation around his neck that wakes him up, and he panics and fumbles for his rifle until he sees Carolina’s hair falling over her face, blazing red even in the dark. She’s caught him by the throat, tearing his armor off with her other hand, and when she wrenches his helmet off and tosses it aside, he can’t help but laugh, the kind of laugh that jumps out of your throat when you’re three seconds away from pissing yourself.

“What, waking me up with a blowjob not your style?” he quips, just as she pins him down and the back of his head smacks down against the concrete.

===

Wash catches Tucker the next morning, when he’s on his way out of the kitchen carrying an armful of snack rations, and he doesn’t look pleased. “Look, man,” he says, grabbing Tucker by the arm, and his mouth is twisted into that ever-present frown. “You need to stop.”

“ _Stop_? No one even eats these things besides me! And if you wanted any it’s too late now, sucker!”

“What? I’m not talking about the food, you moron.” Wash gives him a withering look. He’s clearly short on patience today. “This -- _thing_ \-- with Carolina. It’s a bad idea. You need to stop.”

“What, you jealous I’m banging your girlfriend?” Tucker’s in no mood to hear it from him, but he can’t deny the amusement he gets when Wash’s feathers get ruffled. “Take it up with her, man. She’s the one who keeps jumping me. Heyo!”

Wash, however, is persistent. “I’m serious, Tucker. There’s...there are things you don’t know about her. You’re not seeing the whole story here. Things that happened when we were in Project Freelancer. She’s -- ”

“Crazy?” Tucker supplies. Wash knits his brow.

“That’s not exactly what I -- ”

“Dude, I already know she’s crazy. _All_ Freelancer chicks are crazy. There’s some kind of minimum batshit level required, or something.” He shrugs. “Whatever. She can be as crazy as she wants, because I’m ready to get Freudian on that sweet piece of ass. Bow chicka bow wow!”

“Oh my god, can you _stop_?” Wash rubs his forehead, staring at Tucker incredulously. “This could -- _will_ go horribly wrong. I’m trying to do you a favor here!”

“Uh, no, you’re just trying to cockblock me. And it’s not gonna work! Sorry she’s waxing my pole and not yours -- wait, no, I’m not fucking sorry. Don’t be a little bitch about it, dude. Come on. Be a team player! If you know what I -- ”

“Shut _up_! Oh my _god_.” Wash pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in a long, slow breath. “Listen. I want you to listen to me. Carolina has a _history_ , okay? She and I, when we were back in Project Freelancer, we had a -- ”

“Dude, no way! She fucked you? I don’t fucking believe it.”

Wash glares at him. Tucker, however, appears to be immune to disapproval of all kinds. “We had a _friend_. And this friend -- ”

“I knew she didn’t fuck you! Shit, you’re boring. This is boring! I’m out.” Elbowing Wash in the side, Tucker shoves past him, somehow managing not to drop a single ration pack. Wash presses the heels of his hands into his face and tries not to punch the wall.

===

It isn’t until after they’ve fucked a few times that Tucker realizes it. At first he’s so overcome by the sheer unreality of it all, so possessed by the way she takes him when she wants, where she wants. She’s just so vicious and selfish -- even when she goes down on him, even as she wraps her mouth around his cock, she’s only in it for herself. He’s never been so completely at the mercy of a woman before, and he finds he has no complaint. It’s fucking _hot_ , on a new and strange level, and every new bruise he gets is just another memory to tuck away for later.

But when she comes up behind him in the shower, presses herself up against him and wedges her hand between his legs just to grab him by the balls, and they fuck against the wall, he starts to notice it. He feels, for the first time, that she’s not really fucking him at all.

He lets himself slide down the wall to the floor, the shower still running. She doesn’t leave right away for once, and she reaches to turn the temperature back up. She stands under the shower as steam clouds over her, wet and naked and covered in old scars. Tucker waits for the weak jelly feeling in his thighs starts to subside before he moves to get to his feet.

“So who is he?”

It’s the most he’s ever said to her after sex that isn’t a witty comment or a stupid line. She turns her head just slightly to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. She looks as threatening as ever, but there’s this sort of subdued halo around here, and maybe it’s just the trick of the light and water, but she looks a little less like she might punch him in the face if he steps too far. It instills confidence in him, and he’s sure she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him _too_ badly, because he knows she’s not done with him yet.

“Who?”

“Whoever it is you’re always thinking about whenever you come around for a booty call.” Tucker regrets asking almost immediately. He doesn’t want to know this shit. So he keeps his tone light, and he prays she doesn’t give him a real answer. “I mean, not that I can blame you,” he adds with a dumb smirk. “I mean, come on, baby, this is a fine piece of real estate right here.”

If Carolina’s bothered by his stupid flippant lines she doesn’t show it, not really. She turns her face into the shower for just a second and then turns it off. “It doesn’t matter.”

He’s so relieved he nearly pisses himself -- he doesn’t want to know, and he doesn’t want her to want him to know, because that would mean she wants something more from him. And she’s amazing and he feels enraptured, swallowed up by her every time she fucks him, but she’s hypnotizing the same way that a train wreck is, and that’s not a ride he wants to board.

But he’s already misstepped. She leaves him alone in the shower, stealing his towel, and he’s convinced that that’s it, he’s jumped the shark and she’s done with him because he knows too much and asked too much, but the next day she grabs him by the back of the head and makes him nail her up against the wall of his bunk.

The relief that comes with the sensation of her wrapped around his cock is different; it’s a slow burn, and it goes all the way to his fingertips. Now he can forget he ever asked her, forget he ever got the strange sense that he’s not even there when she fucks him. It’s too easy for him to go back to the awful fascination with her raw sexuality and to get so caught up in the thrill that he nearly forgets how to walk afterward. He doesn’t know if she’s trying to fix herself by fucking him, or if she’s trying to fix anything at all. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to _help_ fix her. He’s okay with being used, because she’s letting him use her too; every time, he can get away with just a little bit more, and it’s like fucking on a rollercoaster. It’s exciting and terrifying and there’s blood in his mouth, and every time she fucks him she’s punishing him, and he sure as fuck isn’t ready to get off the ride.


End file.
